


The Narcissist's Guide to the Interpretation of Dreams

by lizardkid



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Pining, Post-Season/Series 04, Sexy Oneiromancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-08 18:36:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18628960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardkid/pseuds/lizardkid
Summary: "I'm often held, yet rarely touched;I'm always wet, yet never rust;I'm sometimes wagged and sometimes bit;To use me well, you must have wit."Martin is being held hostage, Oswald's emotions cloud his reason, and there are riddles abound. Oswald must overcome his fears if he’s to find Ed and Martin.





	1. I'm No Freud, But...

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy whatever this turns out to be
> 
> and feel free to listen to my nygmob playlist that makes me sad enough to write this shit: https://open.spotify.com/user/1188291224/playlist/3j35idRoeI0TF16Ta4pJWs?si=p7B8nJxLTFWXmxZpXe-YWQ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald dreams.

Edward Nygma was not a good man.

Oswald knew this. In fact, nobody knew that long, dark, winding road better than Oswald, who watched Ed with sick fascination as the man crawled on all fours toward him. Lust and shame made his stomach churn as he breathed in hot, shallow breaths, his pale eyes watering with the residual emotion of a previous outburst.

Nobody knew Oswald’s emotions better than Edward Nygma. And Edward Nygma was not a good man.

Oswald swallowed thickly around the fear and want. His body thrummed with how desperately he wanted Ed, but Edward Nygma would never be a good man. Edward Nygma would never be good for Oswald.

Oswald had been around long enough to know what a man who takes and does not give looks like.

It was foolish to hope, to dwell, to yearn. Foolish and emotional. Ed’s eyes seemed to mock him even more than the shark like grin affixed to his mouth. Oswald wore his weaknesses on his sleeve, and he had been lucky that, thus far, wearing his strengths on his sleeve had protected him. Those who got too close faced his fury, his henchmen, his sadism.

But Ed had wormed his way beneath Oswald’s skin like a parasite.

Oswald knew this. Edward knew this. Like chess pieces, everything had moved into place, all Oswald’s defences had been obliterated, and now all that remained was the Queen’s quick, calculated capture of her prey. Pinned to the wall, with nowhere to run, the King could not breathe.

“I love you,” Oswald said, because it was the only thing left to say, and because he wanted to, and because it didn’t matter now anyway. Ed said nothing, as Oswald knew he would. Everything happened as though it had happened before, as though Oswald was reciting a script. He knew the part he had to play.

“Ed,” Oswald gargled around the blood that had begun to pour from his mouth. “Ed.” Edward only moved closer, laughing now. “Ed! _E-d_!” Oswald’s voice was panicked now, caught halfway between a howl and a scream. “E- _EUH_ -ED!”

Oswald felt his skin burn where Ed touched him, felt the burning desire, felt the horror, felt every inch of Ed pressing against him, felt Ed’s heart beating steadily against his own, felt the heat of Ed’s fingers, the freezing cold of Ed’s mouth, felt the blood in his mouth, felt the blood in his veins, felt his heart beating frantically like a bird in a cage, felt the shame, the pride, the lust, felt Ed’s movements as though they were his own, felt his own movements as though they were Ed’s, felt Ed’s name on his lips.

Felt his half-hard erection as he awoke with a guttural sob.

Ed’s name continued to drip from Oswald’s lips as he shuddered, alone, in his king size bed. White then red light illuminated the room through the cracks in the curtain as a car passed somewhere below his window. The hands on the gold-laced clock above him indicated that it was almost twenty minutes past two in the morning.

“Fuck,” Oswald said, and then he screamed it, and then he doubled over in pain as his leg protested to all the movement.

A knock at the door made Oswald jump and his breath catch in his throat. “Ed,” he repeated quietly, choking on the dream that still lingered thickly in the air. Sweat poured from every inch of his skin, the sheets he lay in as damp and messy as his hair, but all he could think of was Ed walking in through the door and making everything right. Ed sweeping Oswald up in his arms and kissing him until he stopped shaking uncontrollably.

Ed was the only one who could help, the only one Oswald could imagine, the only one who existed.

The door creaked open and Penn’s head peeked into the room. The wide vulnerability of Oswald’s gaze, the slack jaw, the open expression disappeared immediately, imploding in on itself as Oswald exploded with rage. He could not manage anything more coherent than a blood-curled scream. And if that were not enough to make Penn leave, the knife that Oswald tore from his night stand and hurtled at the man certainly was.

The door shut again with a slam and a muffled shriek, and then Oswald was alone once more. The intrusion had chased away all the fantasies that swam around in Oswald’s head. Cold, hard reality hit him so hard that he choked another sob and curled up angrily against his sheets, twisting himself into them, clutching them with clenched, shaking fists. Oswald’s emotions were devastating at the best of times, all-consuming and unquenchable. They were a force of nature that Oswald had no choice but to be swept up in, no choice but to feel them with every fibre of his being. It was painful, and he knew they would consume him if fantasy and reality remained at odds.

“Ed,” he repeated once more to himself amidst the secrecy of the sheets. Oswald could not tell whether he’d said the name aloud or in his head. “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a long time coming. I've been in Ed/Os hell for so damn long.
> 
> not sure where this'll go, sorry if that bothers you. lots of pining, confusion, and blood, I imagine.
> 
> comments always deeply appreciated!


	2. Old Friends, New Challenges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone pays Oswald a visit.

“Good morning, Mr. Cobblepot. Breakfast is ready.”

There were few things that might’ve made Oswald unfurl from his cocoon of sweaty sheets, and breakfast was not one. Penn received nothing more than an irritable grunt.

“Oh, and you have a visitor.”

That managed to confuse Oswald into silence for a moment before he twisted around to fix Penn with a surly frown. “What?” he demanded. “Who?”

“He… he didn’t say, sir – just that he’s an old friend.”

Oswald continued to scowl at stupid, scuttling Penn, the hang-wringing idiot who allowed just about anyone to waltz into Oswald’s territory. “You’re telling me,” Oswald began, slowly sitting up now, “that he told you he was an old friend, and you just—you believed him?” Penn could see that his master was halfway between complete shock and burgeoning fury. Seeing as the former was usually easier to placate, Penn opted for that route.

“Y-yes, sir, but—but—”

Oswald shrieked, the rage surfacing. “YOU _IDIOT_!”

“Mr. Cobblepot, s-sir, please,” Penn began to babble, shielding himself with his hands, “I had reason to be-believe him!”

At this, Oswald paused, though his expression remained scrunched in anger. “What reason?” he demanded, chest rising and falling as he attempting to repress the flush in his cheeks to no avail. Oswald did not enjoy being in such a state of vulnerability, even before his – apparently – highest ranking member of staff. God, Oswald desperately needed to find someone else, but trust was a rare currency in Gotham.

Penn shuffled from one foot to the other as he began to move back into the room. “He—gave me this.” In an outstretched hand, he held a piece of paper. Oswald beckoned him closer impatiently, and Penn complied quickly, wincing when Oswald snatched it from him.

At the sight of it, Oswald’s face dropped. Before he had time to react, Penn interjected again. “He said he knows where Martin is.”

For a few moments, Oswald only blinked rapidly, struggling to comprehend the familiar picture drawn by his mentee and Penn’s words. When Penn thought he might not respond, he ventured carefully, “Sir?” It was, of course, the wrong decision, and Oswald only had to shoot him a look to close his mouth again.

Once dressed in his simplest but most presentable attire, Oswald limped down the stairs and into his lavish lounge where he expected his guest to be waiting. What he discovered instead, however, was a dead body. Oswald halted in the doorway, staring at the limp form. Foam dribbled from his mouth. By the time Penn had reached the doorway and gasped at the scene, Oswald had noticed the paper poking out from the man’s suit pocket.

Dropping to his knees with a wince, Oswald tore the paper from where it lay hysterically, hands shaking and mouth forming desperate, wordless noises. He held it up to the faint light that streamed in from the curtained window as Penn joined him.

“What is it?”

Oswald pursed his lips at the second drawing, undoubtedly Martin’s artwork. The light illuminated the outline of words on the reverse, and Oswald turned it in his hands, squinting at the atrocious handwriting. Oswald breathed in deeply and squeezed both hands into fists, half of the paper crumpling beneath the weight of his frustration.

“It’s a riddle.”

*

Hugo Strange had all but disappeared from the face of the earth, which was mighty convenient.

Oswald patted Edward the dog absent-mindedly. The two of them were sitting on one of Oswald’s least fancy sofas, as Edward wasn’t allowed on the most expensive ones. Still, Penn was not allowed to sit on any of them while Oswald’s around, so the man hovered uneasily on the periphery of the room.

“I can be earnt but never bought. By heroes and villains alike are my benefits sought. What am I?” Oswald repeated yet again. “Any ideas, Edward?” Edward looked at him blankly, and Oswald huffed. “It’s too vague. Penn?”

Shocked to be called upon, Penn stumbled over his words in his, though that was nothing new. “Uh-ah, I—I agree. It could be anything.”

Oswald huffed again, this time heavier and more exasperatedly. “You just can’t get the staff these days, can you, Edward?” The English Bulldog only licked his owner’s hand, and Oswald chuckled, then grimaced, and beckoned Penn over to wipe the saliva on his coat. “How are our borders?”

“Holding, sir,” Penn responded through a grimace of his own, looking at the sticky trail of spit that now stained his clean suit. “Numbers, too, but—but not for long, I fear.”

With a wave of his hand, Oswald dismissed the concerns his servant had already voiced. “Not now. I want to know if we can risk a little excursion to the GCPD.”

“The GCPD, sir?”

“Are you deaf? Yes, the GCPD. They’ll know if Edward has been active again.”

“Well,” Penn began hesitantly, “I don’t imagine it’ll be a problem. We’re not running too low on fuel, nor bullets. So long as you don’t run into any – _complications_ – it should be quick. In and out, sir.”

Oswald hummed in thought, eyes fixed on the floor, and lapsed into silence.

They remained in silence for some minutes as Oswald’s thoughts drifted far and wide. The possibility that Ed had returned was tantalising enough, but the possibility that Ed was holding Martin captive had pushed Oswald to the brink. The riddle was so unclear. Even if he could figure out the meaning, Oswald doubted it would point to any kind of location. It was more likely to be some kind of taunt, though he had no idea what Ed’s play was here. Why take Martin if not to blackmail him? Surely Ed wasn’t still fixated on revenge.

By the time Penn’s voice drew him out of his thoughts, his jaw had begun to ache from how hard he’d been clenching it. “What?” he retorted, looking up at Penn.

“I said, you might be able to trade for some sleeping tablets while you’re there.” Penn’s voice was matter-of-fact, only as timid as it normally was.

A hot flush rose to Oswald’s cheeks as he choked on his words. “I—how dare— _you_ —!” he spluttered, standing, face contorting to accommodate a brief flash of every shade of anger that it was capable of displaying before settling on one. “Be careful, Penn,” he said darkly, teeth bared around each syllable. “You overstep.”

Clearly, Penn had not expected such a visceral response, though he ought to be used to such reactions by now. “I—I didn’t mean to offend, sir. I only thought—”

“I don’t pay you to think about my sleeping habits,” Oswald interrupted. “I pay you to keep my accounts in order, to do as I say, and to keep your mouth shut unless I ask you something.” Although comparatively calm, there was a tremor in Oswald’s voice that betrayed how close he was to snapping, how shaky his grip on the reigns of his fury. “Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” Penn said, swallowing thickly.

“Get out of my sight,” he hissed, sick to death of the snivelling wretch. Penn complied, and soon Oswald was left with nothing but the company of his dog. He smoothed his shirt distractedly and looked at Edward’s gormless face. Suddenly, Oswald could not stand to be in the same room as the dog. When he looked at him, his mind swam with thoughts of the real Ed, and it made Oswald’s heart turn to ice all over again.

With an irritated noise, Oswald turned and stormed from the room.

In the hallway, several of his minions were milling around. When they saw him burst from the lounge, most of them halted uncertainly, glancing at one another.

“Well don’t just stand there!” he shrieked. “Someone fetch me a _goddamn_ car!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright. this is set post-season 4. 10 points if you can figure out the shitty riddle I made up


	3. Take a Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald pays Jim a visit.

There was blood in his mouth again. There was always blood.

Oswald choked on it, eyes rolling back in his head. The liquid dribbled down his chin and dripped onto the cold, hard floor that he found himself kneeling on.

“Ed,” he gurgled, knowing he would find him here. Everything was shrouded in darkness except for where he knelt, pinned in place by the steady glare of a spotlight. Oswald shivered violently, clothed only in his underwear. It wasn’t the chill that made him quiver. In fact, he couldn’t feel a damn thing. It was the vulnerability. The feeling of being observed.

Laughter emanated from somewhere in the darkness, all too familiar. Oswald’s heart throbbed at the sound of it, his veins alighting. It was a conditioned response at this point.

A loud, echoing clack accompanied the appearance of another spotlight in the middle distance.

Tabitha and Butch embraced, turning to thank him. Oswald saw himself hold up the gun and pull the trigger. An eye for an eye.

End scene.

A new spotlight.

Oswald saw himself again in third person, embracing Martin this time. A green suit slithered into the ring of light, held up a gun, and broke the fourth wall to turn and look him in the eye as he pulled the trigger.

Martin’s body fell limp against his double.

End scene. A bow from Ed. Lights out.

Oswald’s vision swum with red, and he knew he was crying, screaming, protesting, but he couldn’t hear any of it. All he could hear was Ed’s breathing as the man stepped toward Oswald, into the spotlight with him.

“I know,” Oswald told him. “I know.”

Ed laughed again, and shook his head _no_.

Not good enough.

*

Oswald awoke with a gasp in a car. For a moment he panicked, the residual feeling over being kidnapped lingering in his waking conscious, but he soon understood.

A henchman met his eye in the rear-view mirror. Oswald felt overwhelmed with relief that it wasn’t Penn again. “Almost there, Mr. Cobblepot.”

Oswald didn’t reply immediately, looking out the window instead to gauge his whereabouts from his surroundings. “Any issues?” They were close to Scarecrow’s territory, and Oswald had no intention of running into him with only two lackeys at his side.

“No, sir.”

Oswald sighed with relief, partially at the words but mostly at the fact that this guy wasn’t much of a talker. He was so tired of listening to fools. Muffling a yawn with his hand, Oswald relaxed into the leather seat, stubbornly ignoring the pain that shot up his leg when he moved it.

When the car stopped, he did not wait for the door to be opened for him. There was an immediacy about his movements, a tinge of desperate urgency. _In and out. No complications_.

“Jim Gordon,” greeted Oswald, extending his arms out in greeting, “my old friend.”

Jim looked decidedly unamused to see Oswald walk into the precinct but seeing only two figures follow him seemed to calm his nerves. “Oswald,” Jim responded carefully, self-righteous pout neatly arranged. “To what do I owe this – well, this?” Oswald’s face twitched with poorly concealed distaste.

“I need information,” Oswald began as they stepped over the threshold of his office, out of earshot of Harvey, his lackeys, or any other interested party. “Information about Ed.”

That appeared to take Jim off guard, if only for a moment. “Oh?” The detective blinked a few times and stared down at his desk as he leant casually against it. “I thought the two of you were—” Jim fumbled a moment for a way to complete his sentence, still avoiding eye contact with Oswald, before abandoning the sentence altogether. “I thought Nygma skipped town.”

It wasn’t what Oswald wanted to hear, but he disguised it with a smug faux-laugh at the GCPD’s ineptitude. “I suppose I should’ve expected you’d be completely useless, Jim. That’s what I get for misplacing my trust in the police.”

Jim scoffed, looking up to frown at his acquaintance. “That’s what you get for wasting police time with your petty revenge. You really think that if I knew where Nygma was I’d just hand him over to you?”

“This isn’t—” Oswald began, his fury revving to a solid six before he calmed himself enough to keep his voice at a reasonable pitch. “This isn’t about revenge.” Jim Gordon did not know him if he truly thought this was still about revenge. It was a good thing, he supposed, that Jim knew him so very poorly, though it certainly didn’t help him in his current predicament.

“Then tell me what it’s about.”

“There’s no use wasting my breath. You’ve already told me you know nothing about Ed’s whereabouts. I’ll take my offer elsewhere.” Oswald, ever the confident bluffer, turned on his heel to leave. He made it two and a half steps before Jim intervened.

“Oswald, wait.” Gleefully, Oswald halted, though he did not turn around just yet. “What are you willing to offer in return?” It was the voice of a defeated man, willing to bargain with criminals in order to keep his people alive. Oswald had no qualms exploiting such an inane weakness.

Turning back to Jim with a warm smile, Oswald extended his arms as though offering Jim the entire world. “What do you need?” None of them were particularly well off these days, but he was willing to give it all to the GCPD in return for Martin and Ed, alive.

Jim sighed wearily, stood up and moved restlessly from the desk to the door and back again. “Ammo and food, like everyone else. Like you.”

A bubble of laughter erupted from Oswald’s throat at the pointed words calling his bluff. “Oh, Jim. All the years we’ve known each other, and you still don’t trust me.” At Jim’s blank, unimpressed stare, he waved a hand dismissively. “I have my ways,” he continued, more seriously. “I would be more worried about fulfilling your side of the bargain, seeing as you’re starting with nothing.”

There was no arguing with that. Neither party had the thing they intended to bargain with, but both were equally motivated to see that it was obtained. Oswald needed Jim’s detective skills and Jim needed Oswald’s dirty dealings. It was symbiosis, pure and simple.

“Alright,” Jim said at length. “Let’s say, for now, that you can get supplies. What is it exactly you want to know about Nygma?”

“A location. The last place he was sighted. Any incidents that could even tangentially be related to one of Ed’s ridiculous schemes. Bear in mind, though, that you’ll only get what the information is worth. After all, I’m nothing if not fair.”

The words brought a disgusted expression to Jim’s face, his teeth appearing in a silent snarl. It was not fair, and he knew that Oswald wouldn’t be fair, but it was better than nothing. And Oswald knew _that_ , knew that Jim was desperate. It was the reason he was smiling as though he’d already won. “Fine,” Jim said eventually. “I’ll talk to Lucius.”

Oswald’s face brightened considerably, though how much of it was earnest, if any, was anyone’s guess. “As always, Jim, it’s a pleasure doing business with you.”


End file.
